vent, but he was shocked and grieved, as only a
strong man can be, at this passing of his strength. And the issue was
too clear for him to dodge, even with himself. He knew why his hand
had gone down. Not because he was an old man. He was just in the
first flush of his prime, and, by rights, it was the hand of the
hammer-thrower which should have gone down. Daylight knew that he had
taken liberties with himself. He had always looked upon this strength
of his as permanent, and here, for years, it had been steadily oozing
from him. As he had diagnosed it, he had come in from under the stars
to roost in the coops of cities. He had almost forgotten how to walk.
He had lifted up his feet and been ridden around in automobiles, cabs
and carriages, and electric cars. He had not exercised, and he had
dry-rotted his muscles with alcohol.

And was it worth it? What did all his money mean after all? Dede was
right. It could buy him no more than one bed at a time, and at the
same time it made him the abjectest of slaves. It tied him fast. He
was tied by it right now. Even if he so desired, he could not lie abed
this very day. His money called him. The office whistle would soon
blow, and he must answer it. The early sunshine was streaming through
his window--a fine day for a ride in the hills on Bob, with Dede beside
him on her Mab. Yet all his millions could not buy him this one day.
One of those flurries might come along, and he had to be on the spot to
meet it. Thirty millions! And they were powerless to persuade Dede to
ride on Mab--Mab, whom he had bought, and who was unused and growing
fat on pasture. What were thirty millions when they could not buy a
man a ride with the girl he loved? Thirty millions!--that made him
come here and go there, that rode upon him like so many millstones,
that destroyed him while they grew, that put their foot down and
prevented him from winning this girl who worked for ninety dollars a
month.

Which was better? he asked himself. All this was Dede's own thought.
It was what she had meant when she prayed he would go broke. He held
up his offending right arm. It wasn't the same old arm. Of course she
could not love that arm and that body as she had loved the strong,
clean arm and body of years before. He didn't like that arm and body
himself. A young whippersnapper had been able to take liberties with
it. It had gone back on him. He sat up suddenly. No, by God, he had